


Just One Needle

by Musafir



Series: Growing Pains [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Family, Feels, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 10:27:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16617215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musafir/pseuds/Musafir
Summary: “No needles?” Tim asked, looking up at him hopefully. Bruce swallowed hard.“Maybe just one. You can take just one, right Tim?”“Okay.” Tim said with a sigh that tore at Bruce’s heart. “Hurts anyway.”





	Just One Needle

**Author's Note:**

> Starting a new series o.o Based around flashes of family life if all the bats were raised together when they were young! Planning on making it a series, in a loose unconnected/connected way. Let me know what you think!

  1. **8\. 13. 18.**



“Shit-  _ shoot _ . Clark, can you grab Damian? I need to get Tim inside.” Bruce said, simultaneously trying to make sure none of his kids heard the minor curse, hand Damian to Clark while shielding him from the rain, and feel Tim’s temperature.

Damian was making the task monumentally harder by winding his tiny fists into Bruce’s scarf and screaming into his ear. In the car in front of him, Tim sagged against the side of Damian’s car seat, face flushed and sweating despite the cold weather. Bruce fought the urge to curse again.

“Dick! Can you get the door?” Clark called, rounding the SUV and helping Bruce unhook Damian’s pudgy fingers. He shot Bruce a smile and Bruce grimaced back in return. It was the best the weary father could muster at the moment.

“No!” The tiny boy screamed, face red from anger and exertion. Damian’s tantrum had started the second they lifted him out of the car. Apparently the toddler wasn’t content with their hour long drive and wanted to do it all over again. Over Bruce’s dead body. 

“Okay!” Dick called cheerfully. He ran past them, jumping into puddles as he went with Jason. Bruce made note of the mud coating the leg of their pants and despaired.

“Be careful! Don’t run!” He called out. Dick, his obedient eldest child, slowed down, but Jason, as par for course, sped up. They both collided mid-step on the stone staircase and Bruce’s heart nearly thudded out of his chest as he instinctively knew he was too far to catch them in time. They both tipped backwards, about to fall down the unforgiving steps of the Wayne Manor. Bruce lurched towards them anyway, unable to reconcile his logic with his parental instincts.

In the next second he saw Clark blur out of focus and appear next to his eldest boys, a hand on both their arms, carefully pulling them back onto their feet.

“Alright there boys?” Clark asked gently. Dick, used to taking tumbles, smiled widely back.

“Thanks, Uncle Clark!” He said with a toothy grin and no residual fear.

“Thanks.” Jason muttered, less enthusiastically, more shaken. Bruce made a note to force a hug onto him later and check to make sure he was alright.

“Dick, take Jay and  _ walk _ inside.” Bruce called, trying to calm his heartbeat. “And get Alfred! Tell him it’s time for Tim’s meds!” Bruce yelled louder, trying to be heard over the sound of Damian’s renewed screams. Clark jogged back to him.

“Hey little man, what’s the problem?” Clark cooed to Damian. Despite himself, Bruce felt amused, knowing that Damian seemed to have a vicious hatred for being baby talked to, and Clark refused to believe Bruce when he said so.

Fortunately, he managed to untangle Damian and thrust him carefully into Clark’s outstretched arms. The baby wailed louder and reached up to pull at Clark’s hair, as if knowing that it was normally a weak spot on people. Unfortunately for Damian, Clark was not normal; he just smiled wider at the baby and tilted his head so Damian had access to a larger surface area of loose curls.

“I ever tell you I love you?” Bruce muttered, adjusting the satchel on his shoulder and his scarf.

“Might have come up once or twice.” Clark said, hefting Damian up further onto his plaid covered shoulder. “Let me get this cranky baby inside and out of the rain. You need me back out here?”

“No, I’m good. Just going to bundle Tim up and come in. We’ll get the bags tomorrow or whenever.” Bruce decided.

“Alright, see you inside.”

Bruce watched him go for a second, and then turned back to his last bird.

“Hey, hey Tim. Not feeling any better buddy?” He asked softly. He wiped his hand on the blanket left in Damian’s seat to get rid of the raindrops and then pressed it to Tim’s head. His heart sank as Tim immediately jerked away from the cold appendage, but not before Bruce could feel the heat radiating from him. “A little hot, buddy?” He asked, trying to push the panic down.

He had to remember that Clark would tell him if something was wrong with Tim to the point of him needing emergency attention.

“Daddy….It  _ hurts _ .” Tim said, his voice weak and scratchy. Bruce, however, found the words themselves to be the alarming part. Tim didn’t call him Dad or Daddy unless he was really out of it. In those times, and this one, Bruce wondered if Tim knew he was calling  _ Bruce _ dad, or if he was calling out for Jack Drake.

“I’m going to fix it baby.” Bruce promised. He needed to check Tim’s temperature. He needed to get Tim dry and warm and get his meds into him. He already knew he would be holding an all-night vigil in the boy’s bedroom tonight, to make sure Tim didn’t need to be rushed to the hospital again, despite Clark’s assurances that he would know the moment something changed.

“Can you sit up for me, kiddo?” He asked quietly. He reached forward to help Tim up, despairing at the way that one of his hands was enough to span across the tiny boy’s chest.  _ Too small. Too small. Too small. _ He couldn’t remember Dick or Jason ever being this small.

Clark would tell him if something was wrong. Bruce fought the urge to strap Tim back in and just drive him to the hospital now.

He lifted one of Tim’s limp arms and pulled it through the jacket sleeve. Tim let him manipulate his body as he pleased, flopping forward into Bruce’s chest at the slightest touch.

“Are you still with me, kiddo?” Bruce asked, finally pulling the zip up as high as it could go.

Tim cracked his swollen eyes open. Hazy blue eyes peered through a watery film as Tim tried to focus on him while also keeping out the light. His tiny forehead scrunched up and a small fist was rubbed against a big eye. Bruce waited as Tim blinked a few times, love swelling up inside him as the child made the monumental effort to smile at him.

“I’m with you, B.” Tim said sweetly, making the effort to push down the pain in his voice. Bruce hugged the child against himself gently, fighting the urge to crush him to his chest the way he did with his older boys. Tim was ten times more delicate and a constant practice in balancing physicality.

“I’m going to get you inside. Can you put your arms around my neck and promise to keep your head down?” Bruce asked softly, trying not to upset the headache he knew Tim had further.

“Okay, B.” Tim said, eyes sliding shut and arms lifting. Bruce felt pride swell up inside him. His son was a champ.

“That’s my boy. Come on kid, let’s get you inside.” Bruce wrapped Tim to himself as closely as possible. He felt Tim’s head burrow into the hollow of his neck and felt a sting of unease at the wheezed breaths against his collar bones. He shut the car door and walked as quickly as he dared, while holding his precious bundle.

He didn’t want to jar Tim, but at the same time he had never felt the mere moments it took to get to the foyer of the mansion to be this elongated. He forced himself not to run lest he drop his precious bundle.

“Alfred!” Bruce called, the second he cleared the foyer. It was deserted, save for discarded outerwear and a few muddy streaks on the floor that revealed the paths Dick and Jason must have taken. Bruce kicked the door shut behind him and let the satchel fall against a settee. He set Tim down, making sure he was propped up carefully and quickly stripped himself out of his rain soaked coat.

“Alright Tim, let’s get you settled.” Bruce said, lifting his son up again quickly. He felt the small body slump lifelessly and almost had a heart attack until he looked down and saw Tim’s eyes half open and a thumb in his mouth. He gently tugged the thumb out and continued his walk to the improvised med bay they had created on the upper floors. Ever since Dick had come along, Bruce learned that dragging a small child into a cave for any kind of medical treatment was not a good idea. By the time Tim happened, there was an entire converted bedroom with the latest amenities on the first floor and Bruce was thanking his stars for the foresight.          

“Can I go nap in my room?” Tim asked hazily, face half pressed against Bruce’s shoulder.

“No kiddo. We’re going to nap in the downstairs room. But you have to take some medicine for me first, okay?”

“No needles?” Tim asked, looking up at him hopefully. Bruce swallowed hard. The research into needle-less injections was going to be getting a very hefty donation very soon.

“Maybe just one. You can take just one, right Tim?” Bruce said, trying to keep the bolstering cheer in his voice. As long as the self-recrimination didn’t shine though he was good. Tim was the most sensitive of his children by far. Bruce always felt like an absolute sack of shit when trying to manipulate him even in small ways like this.

“Okay.” Tim said with a sigh that tore at Bruce’s heart. “Hurts anyway.”

Before Bruce could piece together his emotions to answer that, Alfred appeared in the doorway of the med room.

“My goodness! What do we have here?” He asked, stepping back and allowing Bruce to stride in with Tim. Bruce noted that the bed on the left, furthest from the windows, was made up with Tim’s preferred blankets and a stuffed teddy bear that Bruce had hermetically sealed and cleaned once a week. Tim had once caught an infection that he had just gotten over from Mr. Super Bear. Bruce had wanted to burn Mr. Super Bear to ashes for it. Fortunately Alfred had stopped him.

“We have a sick bird on our hands, Alfred.” Bruce set Tim down gently on the bed and started to strip him out of his clothes.

“Not feeling so well, Master Timothy?” Alfred tutted, leaving a glass and a cup of medicinal syrup on the bedside table. “Where does it hurt?”

Tim wiggled out of the last of his clothes, now clad in just his boxers and socks and shivered up at them. He reached for the blanket and Bruce instantly helped him wrap it firmly around himself. The blanket was already warm under his hands and Bruce caught sight of a discrete power cord edging off the bed. Heated blanket. What would he do without Alfred?

“Hi Alfie.” Tim said, the shivers already beginning to lessen. “My throat hurts an’ my eyes an’ my chest.”

“That does indeed sound terrible.” Alfred said gravely. Bruce stepped back and let Alfred kneel in front of Tim. “We shall see to your quick recovery, Master Tim, I assure you.”

“I know, Alfie.” Tim said with a smile. 

“Open your mouth please, dearest.” Alfred instructed, holding a thermometer up. Tim obediently did so and then sat still as they waited for the reading. Bruce still found himself marveling at the standard of discipline Tim held himself too. 

Jason had once bitten through a mercury thermometer. He had been perfectly fine, but Bruce had been plagued with nightmares for the following three days. Tim was a veritable angel in comparison.

A small beep was heard and Bruce moved closer to see the reading with Alfred. 99.9 degrees. His mouth flattened into a hard line as he met Alfred’s eyes, but a silent communication had him backing away from packing Tim into his arms and whisking him off to the hospital to letting Alfred take charge. 

“Alright Master Timothy, thank you for holding still for me. Do you feel quite warm?” 

“A little bit.” Tim said. “But it will go away right?” Tim knew what was coming. Bruce lifted the medication, but held off on making Tim take it as Alfred conducted an examination under the guise of a playful game.

“Of course, Master Timothy. Of course. There are just a few more questions I need answered dearest…would you say that it hurts  _ here _ ?” Alfred grabbed one of Tim’s tiny feet and pulled the sock off, tickling his fingers to the underside. Tim shrieked in laughter, face reddening even further and features breaking out into a joyful awareness that had been missing for the last few hours. Bruce’s heart swelled at the sight of life flooding back into his child.

“No, no!” Tim giggled, kicking his small feet. Bruce noted, that even in his amusement, Tim was conscious enough to never aim a kick directly at Alfred. The level of courteousness instilled in him was nearly heartbreaking. Bruce had been inadvertently kicked in the face by all his children so far, with the exception of Tim. It was practically a rite of passage for him now. Someday he would get Tim to relax enough to not care. Someday.

“No? What about  _ here _ ?”  More peals of laughter flooded the air.

“ _ Noooo _ !”

“Here?”

Bruce watched as Alfred systematically made it through all of Tim’s lymph nodes, his appendix, his nerve clusters and the rest without alerting Tim to what he was doing. By the end of it, Tim was breathless with laughter, eyes bright, face flushed, and gently quivering. Bruce attributed half of it to his happiness and the other half to his fever.   

“Well, Young Sir. I say we shall have you in tip top shape quite quickly!” Alfred exclaimed, giving Bruce a discreet hand signal behind his back that made the father feel relief. It was their sign indicating there was no need to panic; everything was manageable. 

“Thanks Alfie.” Tim said, leaning forward and catching Alfred in a hug before the elder man could stand up fully. Bruce watched his small head covered in downy hair nestle next to Alfred’s older grey streaked mane. Alfred lifted a hand and ran it down Tim’s back, a small sigh of content escaping him. 

“Of course Master Timothy. Of course.” Alfred murmured. He waited until Tim pulled away to remove his own hands and for a second Bruce caught the sight of a misty eye before Alfred moved away, towards their medicine cabinet. “A moment, young sir.” He said to Bruce, nodding to the medication Bruce still held. 

So there was something Alfred caught. Bruce watched him rummage through their antibiotics, while keeping one eye on Tim, who was already tired out from the examination and lying back on a pillow that was wider than his chest. He curled around it, one hand clamped around Mr. Super Bear and the other holding the heated blanket to his chest. Bruce moved forward and tucked it more securely along his back, running the back of his fingers down one apple red cheek. 

Tim smiled at him, eyes half sliding shut under the gesture. He let go of the blanket and grabbed onto Bruce’s fingers, playing with them while Alfred came back with a small clear bottle. The grandfatherly man paused to smile at the gentle interaction between father and son before arranging the medication. Out of Tim’s sight line, he pulled out a needle and prepped it. 

“Tim.” Bruce rumbled, gently calling out to the boy whose eyes had already closed. “It's time for medicine. You can sleep right after.” He sat at the edge of the bed, helping Tim sit up, the small boy’s body on the edge of exhaustion after his Alfred induced adrenaline rush. 

“Jus’ one needle right Bruce? Like from before? Promised just one?” Tim asked anxiously, both hands clenching into Mr. Super Bear’s fur and betraying how he really felt about the situation. 

Bruce glanced at the tray in Alfred’s hands and gave silent thanks. The butler had only prepared one syringe. 

“Just the one, Tim. Just that and some grape flavored medicine. Grape’s your favorite flavor right, kiddo?” Bruce asked as he grabbed the syrup first, deciding to get the easy part out of the way first. Tim never really gave him a hard time, but Bruce always prepared for it. 

“Yes.” Tim said, somewhat cheered before remembering that the grape flavor was quickly overwritten by the bitterness of the medicine. Still, he drank it down like a champ when Bruce offered him the tiny cup, and the only indication that he didn’t like it was the slight downturn to his lips. 

“Good boy. Ready for one little pinch? I’m going to do it so quick that you won’t even feel it.” Bruce cajoled, internally wondering why he was lying to his smart son. Still, Tim didn’t call him out on it and Bruce didn’t stop his soothing, utterly false running commentary as Tim bravely held out his arm, the other clenched onto the arm of Mr. Super Bear. True to his word, Bruce made the injection as neatly and as quickly as possible. He forced himself to ignore Tim’s flinch and depressed the plunger, removing the needle with care and haste. 

“All done!” He said with as much cheer as he could muster. “You did so good, Tim. I’m really proud of you.” 

The one tear that had gathered at the corner of Tim’s eye was brushed away with Bruce’s large thumb as the father pressed a kiss onto the soft downy head. 

“Thanks B.” Tim lay back down as soon as Bruce released him. 

“Master Timothy, would you care for the Batman bandages or Superman?” Alfred queried seriously. Tim cracked his eyes open at the question and appeared to seriously consider it. 

“Batman, please.” He said decisively. Bruce cracked a grin despite himself. That's right, Clark Take that. 

“That's my boy.” Bruce said, proudly. Alfred applied the bandage after clearing up the drop of escaped blood and tucked Tim’s arm back around his bear. Throughout the process Tim didn’t open his eyes or make an effort to sit up, but he still mumbled a thanks, ever polite, when Alfred was done. 

Alfred tucked the warming blanket back around the small child and dropped a kiss onto his head. 

“Sweet dreams, darling boy. Master Wayne, I shall dispose of this and see to dinner. Do notify me at once if this situation changes.” Alfred said, already gathering up the used medical supplies. Despite his request to Bruce, Alfred grabbed one of the enhanced baby monitors that would let him keep an eye on the medbay. Bruce knew that he would be keeping as close of an eye on it as Bruce himself did. 

“Of course, Alfred. Thanks.” 

Bruce squatted down next to the bed, listening for a moment to the sound of Tim’s wheezing breaths. He reached out and slotted one hand through the soft hair and made an instinctive rumbling noise in his chest when Tim let out a higher questioning note. The boy instantly settled back down. 

“Tim, do you need anything, baby?” Bruce asked, wondering if there was anything he could do. Maybe Tim would know the secret to abolishing sickness in children forever. 

“Nnnuh ‘m good.” Tim mumbled. “Jus’ sleepy.” 

“Okay. Okay, you sleep.” Bruce said massaging Tim’s scalp lightly. “I’m going to be right here okay?” 

“Kay daddy.” Tim mumbled, clearly more asleep than awake. Still, his words caused Bruce to freeze and he knelt beside his son for minutes longer than he had planned, until Tim was clearly deeply asleep.

Bruce pushed down his urge to shake Tim awake and question him about his name allocations. He knew the dressing down from Alfred wouldn't be worth it. And Tim’s health. 

Instead, he grabbed a baby monitor, and made sure its twin was fully functioning, with the volume as high up as possible in case Tim’s breathing got worse and he couldn’t see it. Never mind that Clark would be able to hear it. With all his preparations in place, Bruce tucked the blanket around Tim more securely one last time and then went to go find the rest of his family. 

If there was a spring in his step, well that was no one’s business than his own.


End file.
